


Djali is Best Girl

by ImBlackKitten



Category: Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - All Media Types, Notre-Dame de Paris | The Hunchback of Notre-Dame - Victor Hugo
Genre: 15th Century, Goats, Gypsy, Historical, Other, Post-Canon, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Zoophilia, beastiality, goat sex, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26877424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBlackKitten/pseuds/ImBlackKitten
Summary: Pierre and Djali escape Paris and travel to London. Pierre has always favored and loved Esmereldas' goat more than his actual wife, but what happens when they're living alone together and their love for each other only grows stronger?I am going to hell for writing this.
Relationships: Djali & Pierre Gringoire, Djali/Pierre Gringoire
Kudos: 2





	Djali is Best Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry to anyone who might be reading this. This idea has been in my head since I read the book, and I'm hoping that writing it down will help me forget it.

I can admit with little shame that I love Djali more than I ever loved my wife Esmerelda. Djali was a companion and guide for me when I was taken by the Gypsies while my wife was galivanting off with the Captain of the Guard. Esmerelda saved my life by making me her husband, but Djali saved my soul by taking care of me in the way my wife should have. 

I do not blame Esmerelda for this, nor do I blame her for her fate. Months after I’d run from Paris with Djali I received word from the Gypsies (who still considered me part of their own) that Esmerelda had died, and none other than the Monster of Notre Dame had followed her into the afterlife. It came as no surprise, of course, that Phoebus had married another and moved on with his life in a world without the Jewel of Paris. 

Djali and I traveled north up the Seine, stopping at small towns for food and bed. Luckily, nobody knew who I was here, so the catastrophe of my play had not yet reached their ears. I was able to make a small amount of coin busking my poetry on days where I rested in town. Djali would act out some scenes in my poems, and we made enough money by the time we reached Le Havre we were able to travel by boat to London. My English was good enough that I was able to land a job as a playwright in a small theatre in the West End. 

Djali was my only comfort during this time. She held me as I fell asleep and would lick my nose when I’d slept in too late in order to wake me. Djali supported me the best she could as a mother and partner in this new land. My love for her grew every day to the point I had all but forgotten my wife and previous life in Paris. The past seemed like a fantasy to me, the only thing that mattered now was the glossy eyed maiden with a gilded collar that waited for me at home while I worked. The Parisians and gypsies of the past became a figment of my imagination as time passed. My world was here with me in London. 

Djali became more adventurous with me as time went on. I could tell she loved me as much as I loved her by the way she’d bleat in the mornings or the rushed pitter-patter from her shiny hooves when she heard the door creak open as I entered home- returning from work. Sometimes, we’d lie in bed together and I’d spend hours gazing at her big brown eyes and the whiskers poking out of her blackened lips. Occasionally she’d stick her tongue out with a devilish smirk before she’d pounce on top of me. We’d wrestle and play together in the bed like kids. 

Sometimes I felt more goat than human with Djali, and other times I felt that Djali was more human than goat. She was my only companion and the best lover I could have dreamed up. She was more beautiful than any of the whores in the brothels in Paris (I was one to know) and no English woman could even compare to her. Djali was my muse and light in dark times. She’d been with me when I was an outcast, and now she’s with me while I’m an accomplished playwright. 

After a month in London, stealing glances at her while her back was turned I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted the goat in a way I wanted no other woman. Her haunches enticed me as much as the little tilt of her head. She was beautiful like no other and I wanted to take her in a way no man has ever taken her. I couldn’t hold back my desire as the weeks went on. Her soft fur was beautiful in a way that nobody else would be able to see or appreciate. 

When I arrived home after a night at a local bar, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold myself back anymore. Djali was waiting for me at the door like a proper wife should. I knew it in my heart that she was the only girl I’d ever love for the rest of my life, and that if that love was sinful- I’d gladly die as a condemned man if only I’d be with her in every way I can before my accursed death. 

She gazed at me through the moonlight, her soft fur shifting from the breeze of the still opened door. 

I’d never wanted anybody more than I wanted Djali at that exact moment. I slammed the door shut and picked Djali off the ground, she bleated a surprised response to my action, but made no attempt to get away. I carried her to the bedroom and sat her on the bed. Djali turned and tilted her head at me in confusion. I loosened the jabot around my neck and undid the strings holding my pants up. With one hand I undid the buttons on my shirt and with the other I pet her soft coat soothingly. 

Standing half naked next to the goat, I slicked a few fingers with my saliva and pressed one into the lower hole under her tail. She bleated loudly and tried to move away from me, but I held her in place with my other hand. Her warm cavern was tighter than any other woman’s I’d felt before, but that was probably because she was a goat, and not a human. She bleated louder as I pushed my finger in and out of her trying to get her used to the sensation, and she was bleating louder still as a second finger entered her little goat vagina. Her distressed call only turned me on more than I was before. 

Tired of waiting, I ripped my fingers out of her and shoved my cock into her. I- like all Frenchmen was well endowed with a lengthy prick measuring just over seventeen centimeters when fully aroused. Djali took my cock inside of her as I held her by her hind legs and thrust into her. Her cries only fueled my lust as I pounded into her tight hole. 

My desire could be stopped by noӧne and nothing could prevent me from finishing inside of her. Djalis bleating was sure to be heard across the flat I lived in. I didn’t care that they were cries of distress because how could she be hurt when I was feeling so good? Surely this love and lust was mutual. 

I thrust into her deeper, watching my cock get swallowed whole by her. The sight of her furry tail flapping around and hitting my stomach only fueled my lust. Her rowdy bleats and convulsing vagina soon became too much for me, for I released my seed into her needy hole with one final trust. 

Nobody could ever compare to my beloved Djali.


End file.
